


Luck Be a Lady Tonight

by lushatrocity



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lushatrocity/pseuds/lushatrocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake was released from prison on a Tuesday -- by Thursday he had found his next score.</p>
<p>(Otherwise known as the 100 meets Ocean's Eleven.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Ocean's Eleven and couldn't get this idea out of my head. I don't really know what this *is* yet, nor do I know how long it will be -- but hopefully it will be fun!

Bellamy Blake was released from prison on a Tuesday -- by Thursday he had found his next score.

 

____________

 

In all fairness, Bellamy had every intention of going straight when he bid his tiny shoe box of a cell goodbye that morning. Had been nothing but truthful when he promised the guards they wouldn't see him again while collecting his meager collection of personal effects and shrugging back into the clothes of a free man.

 

(It wasn't normal for men to be incarcerated wearing expensive tuxedos so he was forced to endure a few cat calls on his way out -- but who gives a fuck. He wasn't going to see any of these nut jobs again anyways, right?)

 

To be honest, the only thing on Bellamy's mind when he emerged from that shit hole of a prison was going home  _pronto._  


The second thought came to him when he was standing on the edge of the gravel road just beyond the prison gates, hand raised over his eyes in a feeble attempt at blocking out the mid-afternoon glare -- how the  _fuck_  was he supposed to get there?

 

(In case anyone ever wondered if wearing a tux would help them score a ride faster while hitch-hiking, Bellamy can attest that it doesn't. But it does trigger some very colorful comments to be shouted out of windows whilst passing by ... so there's that.)

 

_______________

 

He was still committed to the cause on Wednesday. Though that may have been due primarily to the fact that he didn't really  _do_  anything on Wednesday other than catch up on a lot of shitty TV and lounge around in his boxers.

 

But hey, he didn't steal anything -- so he still counted it as a victory. 

 

_______________

 

The thrall of reality television evaporated around 3 am as other urges took hold, causing him to slip out of his apartment in search of a convenience store to stock up on the essentials: liquor and smokes. Bellamy wasn't one to pass up a deal, however, so he added Slim Jims to the collection when he saw that they were on sale. 

 

"A guy's gotta eat," he joked when he dropped his collection of treasures onto the counter.

 

He earned a grunt from the clerk as she began scanning the items, which he supposed meant he was on his way to making his first new friend on the outside. Feeling even more justified in indulging in a little party for one, he threw a packet of M&M's on the counter with a grin. 

 

The clerk angled a glare of death his way as she  _slowly_  dragged the candy towards her side of the counter. The pinch of her mouth hinted all at kinds of  _lovely_  thoughts bouncing around in her head and Bellamy's shoulders hitched upwards at the severe fucking  _creepiness_  of it all.

 

 He wasted little time tossing a wad of cash onto the counter before gathering up his little assorted goodies and nudging his way out of the store. His haste meant that he dropped the freaking M&Ms on the sidewalk just beyond the doors and he cursed his luck while trying to readjust his bundle in order to bend down to retrieve the candy without losing everything else with it.

 

If asked later, he would admit that he probably would've lasted another couple of weeks before falling off the wagon if he hadn't caught a glimpse of the front page of the paper. 

 

But he did.

 

And so the wagon rumbled on without him.

 

_________________

 

He called his parole officer from the pay phone outside of the airport and made sure to say all of the right things --  _Yeah, looking for work in the morning. Nope, not planning on leaving the state anytime soon. Yeah, I'll be at our meeting on Monday. --_ before slipping inside and finding his way towards the nearest counter.

 

He had the misfortune of being seated next to a Chatty McChatterson on the plane and spent the next five hours torn between the intense desire to commit murder or slit his own wrists. But at the end of the day, Bellamy was neither a violent man nor stupid enough to actually hurt himself, so he sat there and took it like a man.

 

(He pouted like a baby. And then bolted off the plane when it landed.)

_________________

 

It took little effort to obtain a taxi and soon enough they made their way out of the airport and onto the highway. And promptly slowed to a crawl.

 

Craning his neck to peer out the front window, Bellamy took in the sea of brake lights surrounding them with a huff. 

 

"Welcome to LA," the cab driver said, mouth quirking into a wry grin as he caught Bellamy's eye in the rear view mirror.

 

"Yeah, right." Bellamy grunted in response, turning his head to study the car next to him. It was a BMW, which caused him to sneer, and it only got worse once he caught a glimpse of the businessman's awful dance moves as Taylor Swift leaked out of the cracked window. 

 

"Christ," he sighed as he sank further in his seat, wiping a hand over his face. 

 

His sister always did have a thing for cities with god-awful traffic and rich idiots.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the first of our criminal avengers is assembled and the author returns to a more traditional 3rd person narrative. Or well, maybe.

Octavia still has the same number from when they lived together, which allows him to track her down with ease (wonders of modern technology, right?). She's taken up residence in  a night club in west Hollywood, a regular venue it would appear, based on the way the bouncer wastes little time announcing that, "O's in the back," while drawing back the velvet rope with one hand and accepting a crisp Benjamin with the other.

 

(He remembers when a twenty was enough to move mountains -- fucking inflation.)

 

Briefly disoriented by the throbbing bass and flashing lights, he straightens his jacket and plucks at his cuffs before putting his height and broad shoulders to good use carving a path through the mass of writhing bodies. He's a man on a mission, but that doesn't mean he's immune to the distraction of sky-high legs and revealing dresses, so he pauses for a pit stops along the way. A brush of a hand here, a flash of a grin there -- it's all innocent really. Nothing important.

 

Eventually, he makes his way into the back room and spots Octavia at the head of a round table, surveying her party with the haughty indulgence of a queen surrounded by needy courtiers. 

 

"Bellamy," she greets, expression neutral aside from the subtle arch of a brow before she returns her attention to the cards in her hands.

 

"O," he replies casually, turning his head to sweep a glance over her companions. He's vaguely certain he recognizes all of them, but it isn't until he catches a glimpse of the girl to O's right and a memory of his cellmate beating it to the cover of  _Tiger Beat_   flashes before his eyes that it clicks. The girl looks miles away from the fresh-faced starlet that caught Murphy's fancy now, however, what with the raccoon crap smeared over her eyes and the drunken slur coating her tongue as she tilts her cards in his direction. 

 

"These are all red, right?" She asks, forehead furrowing as she forces her mouth to form words instead of vague mumbling, while leaning closer to him.

 

Bellamy, ever the gentleman, tilts his head towards her cards while carefully angling his body  _away_ to preserve a respectable distance between them.

 

 

(Call him old-fashioned, but he likes more than a 20% chance that a chick will remember him in the morning.)

 

"That's a spade." Pointing to the card in question before turning his attention back towards Octavia in time to catch her exchanging coy glances with the large bouncer standing near the wall. 

 

"Ooh, that means I win!" Another man shouts as he lays down his cards with a flourish. "Mine _are_ all red!"

 

Shifting forward, Octavia coos appreciatively before the sound of Bellamy's scoff -- because even from his spot near the wall he can tell that the hand is just a shitty collection of hearts and diamonds -- causes to rise quickly, though her smile never falters as she digs her nails into Bellamy's arm and jerks him towards the nearby exit. "Excuse a moment everybody," she calls out brightly before steering him through the door and out into the alleyway.

 

He takes a second to enjoy the fresh air before turning back to her --

 

"--Don't! Don't you say anything!" Octavia snaps before he can speak, her expression a cross between frustration, amusement and embarrassment.  "It's good money," she continues, the hum of barely suppressed whine clinging her soft voice. It reminds him of the way she'd try to needle him into revealing her Christmas presents, half-whining, half-indignant.

 

He eyes her for a moment. "You're bored out of your fucking mind, aren't you?" 

 

Deflating like a balloon, she slumps back against the brick wall. "I'm so bored."

 

Grinning, he knocked an arm about her shoulders and guided her towards the parking lot. "You look it."

 

Humming lightly, she reached a hand up to circle his wrist. "So, how was the clink? Did you get the cookies I sent?"

 

"Why do you think I came to see you first?" He teased, nudging her lightly before stealing the keys from her hand and easing into the driver's seat.

 

"So," she began once she was safely strapped in on the passenger side, turning away from the window to focus on the business at hand. "What's the target?"

 

If he was thrown by the abrupt change in her demeanor he hid it well, keeping his eyes trained on the road as he eased them out into the evening traffic. "It's tricky."

 

With a bark of a laugh she sank back in her seat, folding her thin arms over her chest. "It always is," she murmured with a subtle shake of her head.

 

"It's going to take a lot of planning, and a lot of preparation --"

 

"What's the target?" 

 

"--A lot of preparation, but the take, the  _take_ \--"

 

"What's. the.target?" She asked again, drawing out the words for emphasis.

 

"When's the last time you were in Vegas?" Arching a brow in her direction as his mouth was split wide with a devilish grin.

 

It took Octavia a moment to pick her jaw up from the floor mats. "You want to knock over a casino? Are you insane?"

 

Bellamy raised three fingers in her direction. 

 

" _THREE_ casinos?! You're insane!"

 

"No, I have a plan." 

 

He spoke with such confidence that she was stunned into silence, mouth opening and closing like a fish as she attempted, and promptly dismissed, every response that flashed through her brain.

 

"Where are we going?" She finally asked, turning her head in time to see him merge onto the highway.

 

"We're gonna need a crew."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for their kind words and hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> And for my Bellarke fans -- it's coming, I promise!

_"So, who were you thinking?"_

_"Reyes, of course."_

_"Hm....There might be a problem with availability."_

\--------------------

 

Arcadia Savings and Loan was a mid-level branch nestled in the heart of downtown, which primarily catered to the investment novices of the world and therefore rarely saw many customers until the lunch rush. 

Which is why Janice Lancaster, the lone teller stationed up front, felt perfectly within her rights to pop in her ear buds at half past nine and settle back in her seat to watch the latest episode of Scandal on her phone. 

It was just getting to the  _good_ stuff, when she heard a knock against her window. Lifting her chin, she flicked a glance between the masked individual at her window and the gun in his hand with what she felt was an award-winning level of disinterest. 

"Can I - uh- help you?" She asked, trying to disguise the quiver in her tone with a polite cough. 

"Sorry to interrupt, darling, but could you be a doll and let us in?" Flashing a jovial smile, the man rocked back slightly to allow her to see that he was not alone. 

Five others stood behind him, similarly attired in the uniform of all would-be criminals: ski masks and black clothes. 

 

A cough brought her attention back to the apparent ring leader. "We're on a bit of schedule here," he said while adjusting the grip on his gun pointedly.

 

Nodding, she extended shaking fingers to press the button on the wall, unlocking the door to the back of the bank. 

 

"That's a good girl," he praised, before gesturing to his crew with a jerk of his wrist. 

 

Two of them disappeared through the door and Janice heard the tell-tale scuff of their boots as they headed for the vault. Another swept past her in the direction of the security room, while the remaining members searched through the offices in order to round up any hiding employees.  

 

  
Shoving into the back room, the pair worked together to disable all of the cameras before turning their attention to the steel monstrosity before them. 

 

The door was a solid wall of stainless steel, comprised of a time-lock system that was the best money could buy. Coated in the haze of the mid-morning light courtesy of a nearby window, it looked like a prized jewel and the thieves couldn't help but share an appreciative chuckle as they studied it. 

The sounds of muffled shouting from the main room reminded them that there was precious little time to waste, so they broke apart quickly.  

The smaller of the pair went to the window, scanning the street below for any signs of trouble, while the other knelt in front of the vault door and began rummaging through a duffle bag. 

 

 

"Ugh, why the hell did you get the itchy ones?" Raven asked while hastily removing her mask to scratch at her nose. 

"You're the one that didn't want to go to the store," her companion reminded in a sing-song voice while attaching the charges to the door. "Besides, they were on sale."

 

"Cheap ass," snorting, Raven withdrew from the window - before turning towards the door when the sound of raised voices caught her attention. "Hurry up, Wick."

  
Pausing to remove his mask, Wick scrubbed at his flattened hair, causing the blonde strands to stand up in a haphazard style that was all his own. "I'm going as fast as I can, Reyes." 

Before she could give life to the insult hovering on her tongue, they heard the sharp crack of a gunshot from the lobby. 

 

Wick returned to his work with a vengeance. "I can go faster," he announced.

 

"You better," she muttered, teeth clenched. 

A few seconds later, he sprang away from the vault and joined her in the back of the room. Flashing a wild grin, he extended the remote with a flourish. "Mademoiselle?" 

Rolling her eyes, Raven pressed the button quickly before ducking when it became clear that the explosion was going to be much larger than they had planned, hands covering her head to shield it from any debris. "You _asshole_  -"

 

"You can scold me later, Reyes." Grabbing her arm, he pushed her towards the door.   Never one to pass up a chance for theatrics, Wick made a show of drawing the door open. "Voila!"  He shouted while sauntering into the vault. 

  
Only to have the alarm go off. 

"Are you fucking kidding --" 

"Fucking amateurs -" 

Shouting over each other as they raced to gather their things and rush out of the back room. 

"I told you we shouldn't have taken this job!" 

  
"Don't you dare blame this on me!"  Wick yelled over his shoulder while tossing his tools into the duffle bag.  

 

"It'll be quick, Raven. In and out, Raven. I'm a  _genius_ , Raven-" Her voice turned squeaky as she attempted a cruel mockery of his voice.

 

"Hey! I am a genius!" Halting in the doorway to turn and point at her. "And I don't sound like that!"

 

"Christ on a cracker, Wick, we don't have time for this!" Huffing, she shoved him out the door.

 

Neither one of them had any qualms about abandoning their comrades in favor of a quick get-away out the back -- only to come crashing to a halt when they realized that their get-away car was gone, the driver having apparently gotten cold feet. 

"Fuck!" Raven shouted, kicking at the curb as the wail of approaching headlights grew louder. 

 

 

Raven was still cursing as the cuffs were latched onto her wrists and she was guided towards a waiting cruiser. 

 

"I'll take care of this trash," a man announced as she was jerked back against his chest. "Tell Jones, I need him right away," the voice continued.

 

The cop, probably fresh out of the academy based on his baby face, stared in confusion. "Sir?"

 

"Just find him!" 

 

The cop scurried away and Raven couldn't help but laugh softly. "Blake," she greeted while tipping her head back to see his face. "Nice of you to drop by."

 

"Well, you know, I was in the neighborhood," Bellamy joked while releasing the cuffs.

 

"Mm, there's a job, I take it?" 

 

"There is." Maintaining the charade, he guided her away from the cruiser and towards the crowd gathered nearby.

 

"Oh thank god, amateur hour was killing me." Glancing aside, she caught sight of Wick being placed into custody and stopped abruptly.

 

So abruptly that Bellamy crashed into her with a grunt.

 

"I have a condition."

 

Following her gaze, Bellamy cocked an amused smirk in her direction.

 

"Don't look at me like that."

 

Chuckling, he turned his head to find Octavia in the crowd before indicating Wick with a jerk of his chin. He could see her eye roll from across the crowd, but she wasted little time slipping under the barricade in pursuit of Wick's handler.

 

\----------------

 

_"So, the way I see it -- you're going to need at least three Tom Collins, a Susan B. Anthony, a Sinatra --"_

_"--And C4."_

_"--Yes, Wick, thank you. You're going to need some new tech, and a few sticky fingers --"_

_"--A shit-ton of C4, actually."_

_Shifting in her seat, Octavia glanced back towards Raven and Wick in amusement before turning back to Bellamy. "Which means we're going to need a banker," she advised with a pointed arch of her brow._

_"I know."_

_Staring at him, her mouth curved when it dawned on her. "Ah, Jaha."_

_"Jaha," Bellamy agreed._

_"Wait! Theleonius Jaha? I heard he was insane?"_

_"Shut up, Wick."_

_\------------------------_

 

"My friends!"

 

Jaha exclaimed as they were shown out onto the patio, rising from his yoga mat in order to greet them properly. 

 

Theleonius Jaha had always hovered around  _different_  on the sanity spectrum, but after his son's death a few years ago, he had been rapidly drifting towards  _eccentric._ Dressed in loose-fitting linen pants with what appeared to be his shirt wrapped around his head in a make-shift turban, Bellamy couldn't help but wonder if Jaha had made the final plunge, after all.

 

"Welcome, Blake the younger," he said as he embraced Octavia, forcefully tugging her close before raising a hand to tap at her nose playfully. "Mars in your 3rd house, I see."

 

"You guessed it," Octavia agreed weakly.

 

"And Bellamy!" Jaha turned towards him, invading his personal space to inspect his features closely. Suddenly, he jerked back with an exhalation of wonder. "Aha -- you have the look of destiny about you!"

 

The sound of choked laughter sounded from behind them, before a loud smack caused Wick to grunt painfully.

 

Which brought them into Jaha's sphere of attention. "And you brought guests!"

 

Approaching the couple, he bowed with his hands clasped in a traditional "Namaste" pose before springing forward with a boisterous laugh to wrap them into a hug. A rather that was rather  _firm_  based on Raven's pinched expression.

 

"We have something we need to discuss, Jaha." 

 

"Business can wait until after we eat, Blake the younger." Jaha said, gesturing to the nearby table. "Come, join me."

 

"We're kind of on a schedule," Bellamy hedged, raising a hand to scratch at his neck.

 

"Nonsense! You must never skip breakfast, Bellamy Blake -- it will ruin your chakra." Jaha warned with a wag of his finger in Bellamy's direction. "Now,  _sit."_  


All in all, the breakfast was a rather simple affair -- Jaha rambled on about chakras and crystals, while the others ate in silence (aside from Wick who had the misfortune of being seated directly across from Jaha and was unable to avoid eye contact). 

 

Settling back, Jaha surveyed them intently over steepled fingers. "As the sun has settled into the 4th house of Venus, we may begin. What is it that you seek, Bellamy?"

 

Clearing his throat Bellamy exchanged glances with Octavia before answering, "We're in need of a banker for an upcoming job. The return will be well worth your investment."

 

"And what is this job?"

 

"Casino in Las--"

 

"You want to rob a casino? It can't be done!"

 

"Three casinos, actually," Octavia cut in dryly.

 

"Three? Three casinos?!" Taken aback, Jaha's gaze bounced between all of them like a pinball, desperately in search of some sign that this was a trick. "It's not possible! Even for a man of destiny such as yourself, Bellamy. No, it's too crazy -- you are crazy!"

 

"--Little too much of the pot call the kettle black if you ask me," Wick muttered, only to yelp when Raven kicked his shin.

 

Bellamy must have been a snake-charmer in a former life because his eyes never wavered from Jaha's, expression set in stone, as he waited for the man's hissing and theatrics to wind down.

 

"....Out of curiousity, which casinos were you after?"

 

Bellamy's lips twitched with the smallest hint of triumph. "The Bellagio, Mirage and MGM Grand."

 

Jaha stilled, his eyes narrowing into slits at the mention of Cage Wallace's prized jewels -- there had been rumors for years about the way Cage had displaced his father atop their Vegas throne, whispers about the bodies that had been left in his wake, such as one Wells Jaha.

 

"It would seem that destiny is with me as well." 

 

And with that, they had found their banker.

 

\---------

_"We need someone with light fingers."_

_"What about Miller?"_

_"He's playing the long game in DC. What about his son?"_

_"He has a son?"_

_\-----------_

It is Bellamy who tracks him down, as Octavia is sent to recruit Murphy out of retirement (because rebels without a cause always make the best Sinatras) while Raven and Wick set up their home base in Vegas. 

 

Nathan Miller is a clear lone wolf, mouth sneering with the arrogance of youth as he refuses the initial offer. But all it takes is planting the seed about the inability to live up to the reputation of  _dear old Dad_  to cause him to change his tune.

 

"I'm in."

 

\-------------

 

_"Now we just need to find someone who knows their way around a computer."_

_"I may know someone," Miller announces, cheeks darkening faintly._

_\---------------_

They find this mysterious Monty Green in an abandoned race track outside of Salt Lake, engaged in a race between a monster truck and a miniature RC version. The RC car has the advantage at the start, until the driver of the monster truck accidentally takes a turn to wide and smashes it to pieces.

 

Bellamy arches a brow in Miller's direction as they watch Monty stomp his feet and argue with his shaggy-haired companion.

 

"What? He's smart," Miller says, shoulders hunching defensively as color darkens his cheeks once more.

 

"Whatever you say, man," Bellamy teases, clapping him on the shoulder before moving in Monty's direction.

 

Monty's companion turns out to be Jasper Jordan, and the pair talk circles around Bellamy until he has no choice but to take him on as well.

 

Later that night, Bellamy slips out of their hotel room to smoke. Leaning back against the wall, he tips his head towards the sky and coats the stars in smoke. He lingers like that for a while, letting his mind drift aimlessly while his body focuses solely on the manual labor of lifting cigarette to mouth and down again.

 

Eventually, however, there is one thought that keeps circling back through his mind and he shifts to dig out a folder bit of newspaper from his wallet. The paper is heavily creased from being folded and unfolded countless times, and the newsprint has faded into little more than a faint impression of a few words:  _Cage Wallace_  and _opening gala._  


He studies the picture of Cage at a podium for a second before focusing on the woman standing at the edge of the frame. His finger traces the shape of her face, while his memory fills in her eyes until they're the perfect shade of blue again.

 

"We're almost there, princess." He whispers before folding up the paper and tucking it away. "Almost there."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plan is set into motion -- and there an unexpected complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a great deal of thanks to the lovely eomerking for providing endless amounts of support and encourage. If you haven't read her beautiful story, "Moving On is Never Simple," I strongly suggest you stop what you're doing and check it out immediately. 
> 
> As always, this is unbeta'd so please forgive any mistakes.

 

 

_"M'not gonna lie - it's gonna be a tight fit. You're gonna need someone super small," Wick announces, though it's horribly muffled by the pen cap currently taking up residence in the corner of his mouth._

_"Want to try that again? We're not all fluent in idiot, **idiot**." Raven snaps as she smacks the back of his head._

_"How many times do I have to tell--"_

_"Just get on with it, for the love of Christ."_

_"--Bell, stop swearing."_

_"O?"_

_"Yea, Bell?"_

_"Fuck. off."_

_"Enough! What numb nuts here," Raven paused to pat Wick's head lightly in response to his outraged huff, "is trying to say is -- you're going to need a grease man."_

_"Oh. Why didn't he say so in the first place?"_

_\--------------------------------------------------------_

"I thought we were going to get a grease  _man_." Bellamy remarked while twisting in his seat to take in the  _festive_  decor that made up the Excalibur's main theater.

 

"We are," Octavia replied, keeping her eyes trained on the stage. She knew from experience that the best way to keep Bellamy from tumbling down the rabbit hole of ADD hell was to remain focused on the task at hand.

 

Turning back to her, Bellamy flashed the program at her with an arch of a brow. "Aren't we missing something, then?"

 

Octavia flicked a glance down towards the large picture of a grinning cheerleader before shaking her head with a sigh. "It's the 21st century, Bell. Get with the program."

 

The sound of music distracted Bellamy and Octavia breathed a sigh of relief when he turned back to the stage without further comment. Munching on her popcorn idly, she watched the herd of perky girls dash onto the stage, ponytails swaying in perfect time with the snap of their hips.

 

The peace lasted another ten seconds before Bellamy leaned over and murmured, "So, who are we looking for again?"

 

Octavia waved a hand towards the dancers. "The tiny chick."

 

Bellamy flicked a pointed glance towards the stage and the ten seemingly identical  _tiny chicks_ jumping about. 

 

"The brunette," Octavia elaborated.

 

Bellamy sank back in his seat with a huff, arms folding over his chest.

 

Watching the display out of the corner of her eye, Octavia smiled faintly before the swell of the music indicated that the performance was coming to the climax. Turning her attention to the stage, she was just in time to catch a small brunette being propelled into the air and executing a dramatic set of twists and turns before landing in the center of the stage with a flourish.

 

"....We got a grease man," Bellamy announced once he was able to find his voice.

 

"Don't be sexist, Bell. Her name's Monroe," Octavia teased, flashing him a wicked smile before tipping her popcorn bowl in his direction.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

_"What are you thinking?"_

_Bellamy collapsed onto the bar, chin resting on folded arms as he stared at the bottles lined up across from them._

_"You think we need one more?"_

_A quiet sigh._

_"All right, I'll get one more."_

_\--------------------------------------------------------_

The discordant melody of rattling slot machines, excited yelling, and quiet conversation blended together seamlessly as Octavia wound her way through the maze of tables and chairs in the direction of the Black Jack section. The tables were fairly empty, as is par for the course on a weeknight, due to a lack of tourists dumb enough to pay the stiff minimum limits of a Strip casino, and she settled into a seat with an easy smile for the dealer.

 

They made casual small talk as her cash was exchanged for chips and her smile was  _almost_ genuine when she earned Black Jack on the very first hand.

 

"It's time for a break," the dealer, a woman in her mid forties, announced while flashing her wrists to prove that there were no cards hidden up her sleeves before stepping aside to allow the man standing behind her to take her place. "Have a good night, dear."

 

Octavia flicked a glance over her shoulder before turning her head, letting her hair act as a curtain to shield her face as he settled into position.

"How are you doing tonight, Miss?" He asked, voice soft for such a large frame. 

 

It sent shivers down her spine and set her teeth on edge. "Just fine," she murmured before painting a devilish smile on her face as she turned towards him. 

 

His body froze, muscles tensing in the manner all predators employ when they catch wind of a potential threat. Octavia is well-versed in the laws of the jungle and she meets his stare head-on, coats her face in an impassive mask as she attempts to assert her dominance -- and she cannot help but hum triumphantly when he is the first to avert his gaze.

 

He keeps his eyes trained on the shuffling machine as he loads in a fresh deck. "You're mistaken," he replies finally, his voice a masterpiece of carefully constructed nonchalance.  "My name is Frank."  He indicates the name tag stuck to his shirt with a jerk of his chin before tapping the felt in a silent reminder of the rules of this little game.

 

"Is that so?" Humming thoughtfully, her fingers make a show of tracing the length of her necklace until they brush the neckline of her blouse. His eyes track her movements and the corner of her mouth quirks. He was always  _so easy._  "This tables a little  _cold,_ I think it's time I tried my luck somewhere else."

 

Clearing his throat,  _Frank_ flicked a glance towards the nearby pit boss, checking to make sure his back was turned before leaning over the table. "You know, a girl like you would probably have better luck at the Caesar's lounge... around, say, 1:00?"

 

Considering his offer, she strokes the small stack of chips in front of her. "1:00?"

 

His gaze tracked the movements of her fingers and swallows harshly "1:00."

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

_"When I said one more, I didn't mean your ex."_

_"We need an inside man, Bell."_

_"Besides, we could use some eye candy around here," Raven cut in with an exaggerated leer._

_"Hey!"_

_"Shut up, Wick."_

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

They arrive at Jaha's compound one-by-one and spend the first few minutes laying claim to their respective pieces of the patio while silently attempting to take each other's measure. However, it only takes the sound of bottles being uncorked and the gentle clatter of food being served for each of the men to toss bravado to the side and advance to the next stage of this primal dance: sizing each other verbally.

 

"Ever been to Salt Lake City, Murphy?" 

 

Octavia cannot help but overhear the conversation from her place at the tiny bar, and darts a glance over her shoulder to see whom has the balls to address Murphy before he's had a cocktail. 

  
It is the shaggy-haired kid that Bell brought with him from Utah -- Jason, Jackson,  _Jasper,_  her mind finally supplies.

 

"No." Flatly, Murphy turns back towards the buffet in an obvious attempt to escape the horrors of small-talk.

 

Jasper trails after him like a determined puppy, babbling all the while, and Octavia can barely control her glee when she catches a glimpse of Murphy's wide eyes. Thankfully, there aren't any knives in their vicinity so she is reasonably certain that Murphy won't be able to commit a homicide in the next ten minutes and drifts away.

 

Bellamy is to her left, Lincoln to her right, and both men appear to be engaged in a battle of seeing whom can ignore the other more. 

 

Octavia rolls her eyes and turns to avoid coming anywhere near that little minefield.

 

Raven, Wick, and Monty have obviously caught onto the fact that they are all geniuses and are engaged in a furious debate, hands flying enthusiastically -- but one glance at Monroe's pained expression and she turns on a heel abruptly to seek out the bartender.

 

It at that moment that the sound of drumming catches her ear, and a hush falls over the group as everyone directs their attention to the house. 

 

"You've got to be shitting me." The voice comes from behind her and she turns her head to catch a glimpse of Miller lurking in the shadows nearby. 

 

Huh. She'd forgotten all about him.

 

The drumming is joined by the sound of maracas and she turns around in time to see that Jaha has gone full-on tribal. Gold bracelets circle his arm and an elaborate chain hangs from his neck, while a brightly colored blanket has been knotted about his waist. A few servants make up the rest of his processional, all looking similarly mortified that dressing up in tribal gear and shaking random instruments has become part of their job description.

 

Jaha comes to a halt in the center of the patio and raises a hand to halt the music before bowing his head.

 

The silence lingers and Octavia catches a glimpse of Wick muttering something in Raven's ear, only to be rewarded with a fist to his gut.

 

Jaha doesn't move a muscle.

 

It is Jasper who finally edges closer, raising a hand to carefully tap Jaha's shoulder -- before  _shrieking_  in terror when Jaha pops up to his full height and begins to chant. He stomps his feet in an intricate dance, voice rising in volume until he reaches the climax of their little show, falling to his knees with his hands stretched towards the sky. 

 

The servants, obviously prepared for this part of the show, begin clapping loudly. It takes a second for the rest of the group to follow suit.

 

Once the applause has reached an acceptable level, Jaha rises to his feet and signals for silence. 

 

"My friends! I have asked the Fates to favor us in our upcoming war and they have answered! Now come and be blessed so that they may smile upon each of you." 

 

Stepping in front of Bellamy, Jaha raises a hand and a servant magically appears beside him, holding a tiny broom. Jaha accepts the object with a grand wave of his hand before turning back to Bellamy. Chanting softly, Jaha swats him in the chest and shoulders with the broom before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 

Bellamy take its like a champ and stares straight ahead as Jaha moves onto the next person.

 

Everything is going fine (or as fine as it could, given the circumstances) until it is Murphy's turn.

 

"Touch me with that and I'll end you," he warns before glancing aside when he hears someone cough pointedly. "In a non-criminal way, of course."

 

The group holds a collective breath as Jaha stares at Murphy for a long moment before he suddenly barks a laugh. "You are a true soldier, John Murphy!" He announces while embracing Murphy and smacking a kiss to both cheeks. 

 

"Now, let us begin planning for war!" Jaha announces before leading the way into the house.

 

Bellamy waits until Jaha has disappeared from view before turning to address the group. " I want to be clear, while we aren't actually going to war, this venture will be risky and it will be dangerous. But the reward will be well worth it, for those of you brave enough to join us."

 

One-by-one each of the group turns to follow Bellamy into the house, until it is only Octavia and Miller left on the patio. 

 

"You're David's kid, right?" Octavia asks while drawing closer.

 

Miller looks up from inspecting his shoes. "Yeah."

 

"That's great. Now get in the fucking house," she snaps, smiling brightly.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

_"I have a question."_

_"What is it, Jasper?"_

_"Uh, say we get into the cage, passed the security doors and down the elevator we can't move. We get passed the guards and into the vault we can't open--"_

_"--Without being seen by the cameras," Octavia cuts in._

_"Oh, right, I forgot about that," Bellamy says with an apologetic wave of his hand._

_"...Right, so say we do all that. We're supposed to just walk out of there with $150 million?"_

_"Well, yeah."_

_Jasper just blinks at them. "Uh, okay then."_

 

_\--------------------------------------------------_

Their plan is set into motion with little fanfare: Jasper is sent to find appropriate transportation, Lincoln returns to work at the casino, the geniuses are sent to the lab to begin brainstorming plans to knock out the power to the vault, and Murphy is whisked away to the tailors by Bellamy to acquire the appropriate wardrobe for a high roller.

 

Miller is placed in charge of surveillance. 

 

("Wallace better not take a shit without you knowing it," were Bellamy's exact instructions.)

 

"Tell me about Wallace," Octavia demands while dropping down into the seat across from Miller a few days later. 

 

The man studies her for a moment before shrugging faintly. "He's a machine. Every day it's exactly the same, and I mean  _exactly."_

"So tell me about it.  _Exactly."_

 

Miller is a man of few words, and therefore breaks down the daily routine of Cage Wallace is a brief a speech as possible before sinking back in his seat, arms folded across his chest.

 

"So, when does he get the codes to the vault?"

 

"He gets that 5:15 during his daily meeting with the head pit boss, Emerson," Miller answers while jerking his chin subtly to indicate the red-haired man standing next to Cage on the dais nearby. "Then he heads to the restaurant by 5:30 at the latest."

 

"And then what?"

 

"Then she comes." Twisting in his seat, Miller indicates the main staircase behind them. "Best part of my day, actually," he admits quietly.

 

Octavia arches a brow in disbelief.

 

"Hey -- I may be gay, but I'm not blind," he mutters, shoulders hunching defensively.

 

Octavia glances back towards the staircase with a soft chuckle, just in time to see a pair of heels emerge on the upper landing. As the woman eases down the stairs, Octavia doesn't see the elegant suit and pleasant smile etched on her face, instead she sees a thousand visions all at once -- a woman, barely more than a girl really, standing at a stove in a men's shirt with her hair in a messy bun; a sheepish smile as she crosses a living room with a hand outstretched in greeting; marching down an aisle in a long white dress; standing on a porch with tears staining her cheeks and blonde hair askew --

 

"... I haven't figured out her name yet," Miller continues, unaware of her turmoil.

 

Octavia returns to the present in time to register the fact that the woman has almost reached them and turns her head quickly to hide her face. She turns back to Miller once the coast is clear, face grime.

 

"Clarke. Her name is Clarke."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine has her say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting! This chapter was like pulling teeth and I'm not 100% satisfied with it, but I hope you'll enjoy.

 

  
For most people, being escorted from their job in handcuffs would be the absolute worst day of their life -- but for Clarke Griffin, it didn't even make the top 5.

 

 

 

 

But Clarke has always been a special case -- the girl has attended more funerals than weddings, and is more capable at discussing treatment options for arthritis than fashion or dating, due to being groomed for a life of clinical detachment and  _blood_ ever since her mother gave her a stethoscope for her 9th birthday.

 

 

Precision and logic coded into her very DNA, Clarke spent her childhood watching the other children gallivant through the stages of awkward limbs and burgeoning personalities while she carefully clung to the straight and narrow.  She only ever dared to use the label "friend" with Wells, the son of a senator, because he had a similar chain of lofty expectations hanging from his neck.

 

 

Everything about her life was planned, regimented, and even the few tiny sparks of rebellion that littered the timeline of her adolescent years felt somewhat  _restrained_ when they failed to cause more than a few stern words from her mother in between trips to the hospital or an indulgent twitch of her father's lips before he disappeared once more into his study.

 

 

However, a tiny little thing called  _cancer_  was enough to snuff out the rebellion entirely, and she enrolled in medical school without complaint. 

 

 A senseless act of violence two years later found her once again at a cemetery, clinging to the hand of a father desperately clutching to the strings of his sanity, and the seeds of rebellion took root within her once more. 

 

  
That rebellion took the form of a courthouse wedding to a man with messy hair and dark, dark eyes. He was from the wrong side of the tracks and was never very willing to discuss the "business" that took him away for hours at a time -- but he made her laugh, and her mother hated him, so he was _perfect._

Until he was arrested for fraud and larceny, that is.

 

 

\----------------------------------------

 

 

 

_"This message is to inform you that inmate 2467, Bellamy Blake, is scheduled for release tomorrow morning at 8:00 am EST from Mount Weather Penitentiary. This message is being sent in accordance with your request. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact your local ..."_

 

Tapping the screen, Clarke ended the message. As it had for the past two weeks, her finger hovered over the tiny trashcan icon -- but just like all of the hundred other attempts, she couldn't bring herself to actually press the button. 

 

 

She was saved from pondering her predicament by her assistant,  Maya, appearing in the doorway. "The Redon's ready," she announced with a tap of her knuckles against the wood. Catching sight of Clarke's expression, her head tilted curiously. "Is everything all right?"

 

 

  
"Oh yes. I'm just a little tired is all."  Clarke quickly waved off the woman's concerns while rising to her feet. "It won't due to keep everyone waiting, so let's meet our new master, shall we?"

 

 

Leading the way through the gallery, Clarke made sure to smile pleasantly at any patrons they passed (it would hardly due for the curator to appear rude, after all), before coming to a halt in the main atrium. The room was empty save for Sterling, one of the gallery's other employees, who was carefully mounting a name card next to a painting on the north wall.

 

 

"Good morning, Sterling," she greeted as she approached -- Sterling was prone to startling and had nearly damaged a few pieces as a result, so it was important to give him plenty of warning whenever engaging in conversation.

 

 

He still dropped his screwdriver with a little yelp. 

 

 "I'm, uh, almost done, Ms. Griffin." His attempt to regain his dignity was foiled when he nearly tipped the stool over while reaching for the screwdriver.

 

 

Darting forward to catch the stool, she gave him a tight smile. "We're right on schedule, Sterling. There's no need to rush." She accepted his mumbled response with a nod of her head before shifting to join Maya a few feet away from the painting.  Tracing the lines of the figures with her eyes, she couldn't help but recall how she'd first learned about Polyphemus and Galatea, tangled up in bed while a mid-afternoon storm raged outside, calloused fingers drifting lower and  _lower_  as a husky voice murmured in her ear---

 

"It's time." Saved by the bell -- or rather, the gentle press of Maya's hand to her shoulder -- she rewarded the girl with a quick smile before turning her attention towards the gallery's main doors.

 

If the Bellagio had a clock tower that announced the passing of each hour, Cage Wallace's arrival would have coincided  _precisely_  with the noon bell. Though the majority of his critics painted him as a devil that spent hours concocting new plans to squeeze every possible penny out of the hands of any gambler foolish enough to enter one of his establishments, Cage was a man who adored efficiency above all else. He had a set schedule and adhered to it with an unflinching devotion. 

 

He was also a lover of Italian suits and had a personal tailor -- so one could understand why whispers of mob ties and other dark dealings often haunted his steps.

 

 

"This is it?" Cage called out as he approached. Shouting in a gallery was considered to be the height of rudeness in most circles, but no one even raised an eyebrow in this case. 

 

 

Once he reached her side, Clarke watched him pass a cursory glance over the painting before asking, "Do you like it?"

 

 

Turning his head, he took in her smile with an indulgent quirk of his mouth. "I like that  _you_  like it."

 

 

Pleased, Clarke leaned forward to brush a kiss to his cheek -- only to be denied by a quick shuffle of his body backwards.

 

 

His mouth twitched apologetically as he indicated the camera hanging above them. "I've told you, darling, someone is always watching." He squeezed her wrist discreetly before turning towards the exit.  "I'll see you at dinner, yes?"

 

 

His scheduled ten minutes were up.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of patron questions and sponsor meetings, and Clarke found herself breezing down the stairs and into the restaurant before she knew it. She made a point to exchange a few kind words with the hostess before being shown to their usual table.

 

 

Surprised to find that she was the first to arrive, she took her time hanging her purse on the lip of the chair, before the hint of movement in her periphery had her grinning. "You're two minutes late. I was just about to send out a search--" 

 

 

But the brown eyes that met her gaze were  _definitely_ not Cage's and she finished on the heel of a sharp swallow, "--party."

 

 

Casually elegant in his dark suit with a few buttons open at the collar and messy curls, Bellamy looked like a cross between every woman's fantasy and her worst nightmare. An effect that was only worsened by the way his mouth curved into a boyish smile and her fingers curled into tiny fists beneath the table in response. "Princess," he greeted softly.

 

 

"Bellamy." Evenly, not daring to hint at any of her inner turmoil. "What are you doing here?"

 

 

"I'm out. You know, paid my debt to society and all that," he explained while sinking down into the seat across from her.

 

 

She scoffed. "Funny, I didn't get a check."

 

 

 

They stared at each other for a long moment before Bellamy finally broke the silence with the clearing of his throat. "You're not wearing your ring."

 

 

Though his tone was even, Clarke was already preparing herself for a confrontation and so she couldn't help but stiffen at the question. "I sold," she replied coldly.  "I'm not a married woman anymore, or didn't you get the papers?"

 

 

"I got them." His jaw clenched and she felt a tiny burst of triumph swell within her. "On my last day inside."

 

 

"I told you I'd write." It was a cheap shot, she knew it as soon as the words dripped from her tongue, and averted her eyes quickly to avoid seeing the hurt in his expression. "Look, Bellamy, you should leave now, before --"

 

 

"--What? Wallace?" He scoffed before turning to order a drink from the waiter. Stubborn as ever, he made a show of settling back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, dark eyes intent. "Look, Clarke, You're doing a great job at the museum. The Redon is quite good. Vibrant -- but horribly arrogant."

 

"Remind you of anyone?" She asked, brow arching pointedly.

 

Ignoring the jibe, he continued. "You know, I always confuse Monet and Manet. Which one married his mistress?"

 

 

"Monet."

 

 

"And Manet had syphillis."

 

 

"They also painted occasionally," ground out from between clenched teeth.

 

 

His mouth quirked faintly before he took in a deep breath, obviously gearing up for something. "Look, I'll make this quick. I'm here for you," he proclaimed, flicking a glance towards her face before continuing, "I want to get on with my life and I want you with me."

 

 

There was a tiny flutter in the pit of her stomach, but she squashed it immediately. "You're a thief and a liar." A detail that would serve them both to remember.

 

 

The corner of his mouth lifted. It was an expression that she had once loved and now desperately hated. "I only lied about being a thief. I don't do that now."

"Steal?"

 

"Lie."

 

His gaze never wavered from her face and she felt her resolve weakening -- but then she was reminded of what happened the last time she trusted him and her walls slammed down once more. "It doesn't matter. I'm wish someone else now."

 

His expression turning to stone, he regarded her intently before raising a brow. "Does he make you laugh?"

 

The harsh faces of the medical board flash before her eyes, her mother's harsh rebuke echoes in her ears. "He doesn't make me cry."

 

The moment is broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. "I'm so sorry, darling, a guest needed my attention." Cage's voice effectively breaks the moment, and Bellamy quickly rises to his feet.

 

"Cage, this is my ex-husband, Bellamy. He was just leaving." Handling the introduction smoothly, she makes sure to flash Cage the brightest smile she can muster as he settles into the seat across from her.

 

It must work if Bellamy's quiet scoff is anything to go by.

 

But he withdraws once it clear that her attention is firmly focused on Cage, turning on a heel and disappearing into the maze of slot machines just outside the restaurant.

 

\---------

Turning away from his slot machine, Miller fishes his cellphone out of his pocket.

 

"We have a problem."


End file.
